Bob and his companions found the hunter pacing up and down the cabin in a state of great agitation.
"I was jest about gittin' off," he exclaimed. "Thought you'd never come. Them rascals will give us the slip yit."
"Who could have robbed you, Yardsley?" demanded Hackett. "It's pretty tough luck, eh?"
"Bless you—yes! When I seed that door open, I know'd something had happened. An' I could hev sold them skins ter Piper, too. Never heard the beat of it."
"Have you seen any suspicious characters around?"
"Nary one!"
"It's mighty queer that somebody should happen along just while you were out. They must have been watching the place pretty closely, eh?"
"Most likely!"
"My eye! There's the wildcat. Why, it's a whopper, Somers—"
"Come on, cap'n an' mates," interrupted Yardsley, impatiently. "Let's be off!"
In a few minutes, the party, with the trapper in the lead, were swiftly following the trail which led across the valley.
"Them tracks is purty fresh," said Yardsley, "an' we oughter gain on 'em fast. Every blessed pack of furs gone."
"You haven't lost 'em altogether yet," put in Hackett. "If this snow-storm doesn't turn into a blizzard, there's a chance of getting the whole bunch back."
"A blizzard's jest what I am afear'd of," commented the other. "It's blowin' purty fresh now."
Up-hill and down, scarcely slackening their pace, they kept along, the tracks of the sled being plainly visible. They were sunk to an unusual depth, showing how heavily it had been laden.
The snow was again coming down thicker, and in that steady fashion which indicated a deep fall. In through a dense pine woods the trail led, then turned abruptly toward the lake.
"The rascals will give us a purty chase," grumbled Yardsley. "Gittin' tired, boys?"
"I don't know about the others, but I'm not," replied Hackett. "I can give you ten feet start, and catch up, any time."
"Good for you," and Yardsley, bending forward, increased his pace.
Everybody had expected that the tracks would lead directly to Lake Wolverine, but this did not prove to be the case. About a quarter of a mile from the shore, they veered off sharply in a northwesterly direction, and, unfortunately, this made traveling all the more difficult.
Whirling clouds of snow dashed in their faces and gusts of wind bore down upon them, but none uttered a word of complaint, as they plunged doggedly along, straining eyes and ears to catch any signs of the thieves.
"It's turnin' inter a reg'lar blizzard," groaned Yardsley. "Them tracks is gittin' lost a'ready."
"Keep it up," urged Bob.
"Don't fear, cap'n. You'll never ketch me a-givin' up while thar's the slightest chance."
"If it would only hold up for a few minutes, even," panted Dick Travers, as they paused for a moment in a deep ravine.
"It's going to be worse before it's better, Dick," said Hackett. "Whew! Listen to the wind in those trees."
"And we can't see very far ahead, now," broke in Sam. "It's getting thicker every minute."
"That it is, mate. Never calc'lated it would be ragin' like this so soon," and there was a tone in the trapper's voice which seemed to indicate that he had begun to have little hope of success.
On the crest of another hill, they could scarcely stand against the terrific blasts which swept along, carrying with them clouds of feathery particles. It was bitterly cold and the darkness unusual, even for a heavy winter storm. The valley was entirely lost to view.
Enveloped in the whirling masses, the boys followed the trapper, whose form loomed up dimly in front. Now and then, he stooped to examine the trail, and occasionally encouraged them to renewed exertions, but the disheartening fact that the deep impressions must be speedily lost was apparent to all.
Faint as his hope was, however, Yardsley kept swinging along. Sure-footed, and accustomed to the woods, he got around the underbrush and fallen limbs in a manner that the others could not imitate.
Half blinded by the flakes, battered by the violent wind, they struggled along. Several times the wind veered sharply around and the boys no longer had an accurate idea of their direction. Every minute found them facing more discouraging conditions. Branches and twigs frequently came rattling about them and their progress was greatly impeded. Thus the pursuit continued for a long time.
Yardsley at length redoubled his efforts, pushing steadily forward, with great strides, so as to take advantage of the few minutes which remained before the trail would be entirely obliterated.
Suddenly Dick Travers pointed ahead, and uttered an exclamation.
Scarcely visible through the driving snow was an object which had neither the shape of a rock, stump, nor anything usually seen in the woods.
"The sled!—I'll bet it's the sled!" roared Dick.
"That's what I think," shouted Sam. "They've had to abandon it."
Close at his heels, the two boys pressed.
Sure enough, there was a sled—but empty.
"They had time ter git away with the stuff, after all," groaned Yardsley. "Nary a thing—all gone."
"Do you think they could have hidden it somewhere?" yelled Dick. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned quickly around.
"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Where are Bob Somers and John Hackett? I thought they were right back of us."
"So did I," put in Sam.
"Great Scott! Whar' did they git ter?" roared Yardsley, with a look of apprehension on his bronzed face.
"Hi, hi—hello, cap'n!" he yelled at the top of his voice.
"Hi, hi, hey, hey!" chorused the others.
But no sounds came back to them.
Again they shouted, their united voices rising above the roar of the winds. Still there was no response.
Yardsley did not attempt to conceal his anxiety. "Lost!" he exclaimed; "an' in this blizzard!"
"Lost!" echoed Sam Randall and Dick Travers, as they looked at each other in alarm.